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George Nason and Elijah Heskins were riding side by side into Jess Clay's camp. It was a highly unlikely pair to be traveling together.
"I tell you Nason, it was a damn fool thing to do to wound that bear. There will be hell to pay, either to us or to someone else."
"What the hell do you care about anyone else? According to your old man you are a natural born killer, and here you are griping about me shooting a bear. He's probably gone off into the brush and died anyway."
"He's probably going to chew you up if he ever gets hold of you. I'll tell you one thing. I am a killer, but I don't wound anything if I can help it. I'll bet you'd gut shoot a man and leave
him too, wouldn't you?"
"Yeah, what of it?"
"You want to gut shoot me, right now?"
George Nason knew he wasn't any match for this man. "No, no, Elijah, let's not beef amongst ourselves. Why don't you go see if you can find your rifle and your saddle?"
Before Heskins could move Nason asked, "Do you think Clay will be showing up here in camp?"
"Yeah, of course he will. I made sure that he'll think his woman is riding the pony, and the trail sure looks like she came up here with one other man. He'll not only show up, he'll be raging when he does. You up to meeting him?"
"You bet I am. I'm no fast draw, and you know it, but I've killed a lot of men. He will die just as well as the others."
"You had better hope so, Nason. Okay, I'm going up to where I left my gear and see if he left my rifle stashed away. I saw him from a distance later, and he wasn't carrying it. That gun is my favorite, and I want it back. I'll be back as soon as I find it."
The trail was plain as day. That should have worried me, but I was too overcome with concerns about Anne to think of anything else. It was obvious that they were riding toward my camp. The rest of the crowd must have gone towards Brown's Hole. Of one thing I was certain; if they had harmed Anne, they would have to start a new cemetery.
A half a mile this side of camp, the horses had shied. The smaller one had slewed around and backed up before moving on. Why on Earth would she do that? Off to the side about thirty feet was the answer. In fact, a couple of answers. What had startled them was a bear, a big one. I whistled when I looked closer at the track. This bear's front paw was tracking sideways! This was the very grizzly that Carter had asked me about. This thing was huge.
Unfortunately it was also bleeding. That pony must have backed up as its rider shot at this beast. Well, that let out Anne being the rider. She would have a lot more sense than to shoot at a creature this gigantic with her derringer. In the big mix-up of tracks, they must have transferred mounts, with the pony coming this way to lead me into an ambush at my camp. Well, I was forewarned, and at least I would not be riding in blindly.
That bear was going to be a problem. What kind of a damned fool would do such a thing? One face came to mind, that of a man in a striped suit. I was willing to bet he was the culprit. I doubted the animal would die from his wounds. He would be mean, though, mean enough to hunt down and kill any man he got wind of. After I got Anne back, I should get a rifle and hunt that bear down before there was hell to pay. I had no doubt that my forty-five could kill him, but circumstances would have to be just right. It made a lot more sense to get a rifle and take the worry out of it.
For now, I ground-tied Big Horse and snuck up to my camp on foot. The pony was there, and it was no surprise to see George Nason trying to hide behind an inadequate clump of brush as he waited for me to show up. I looked in all the dark corners of the camp but could find no trace of the other horse and rider. I walked up the other side of the stream and found the other tracks heading up to the high meadow. Could that mean the other was the rifleman that rode away bareback? He could be up there looking for his saddle and his Springfield.
For now I eased up more or less in the front of Nason. It is easier to see from the sides of the eyes than in front when the light gets dim. I counted on this as I stalked up to about twenty yards.
"Waiting for me, Nason?"
"What the...Yeah, I've been waiting for you, Clay." He didn't try to lie his way out of
it; I'll give him that. "What did you do with Anne Doveling, Nason?"
"I didn't do anything to her. Those boys up at Brown's Hole, though; it's hard telling what they're up to."
"Draw, you scum."
"No, and you can't make me. I am not a gunfighter."
"It's the code of the West, isn't it? That's what makes it easy for guys like me. You fellows all have to play by your rules and that is why you end up losers. I love it."
"You're going to lose tonight, Nason." It wasn't just talk. I saw an enormous shadow creeping up in back of him. If he was any kind of a woodsman he would have heard it over the gurgling of the water on the rocks, but he wasn't. Now I just had to keep him talking a little while longer.
"What made you think that I had anything worth stealing? This is just a little claim that might get worked out at any time. Why bother?"
"I'll tell you why," said Nason bitterly. "Guys like you work hard, and luck seems to follow you. Maybe that's because of your sacred code of the West. Well that's okay, because I am always right there to take your winnings away. You work hard, but you're a loser. You're a...What was that?"
Too late, Nason heard the bear, and by the time he had turned halfway around, he had seen his finish. From thirty feet the grizzly made his rush, and the flat of his right paw hit Nason on the side of his neck and send him rolling. From where I stood,
it sounded like the bone had snapped. The bruin then went straight in the direction of the pony. I must have shifted posture, for when the bear was abreast of me he did a doubletake, like he had just found fresh meat.
There was no margin for error. I carefully but quickly aimed my forty-five midway back on his temple and squeezed off a shot. The 255 grain slug made a visible hole in his head. He was immobile for a split second, and I used that time to drive another shot to the same spot. I saw the hole slightly enlarge, and the grizzly dropped to the ground. He never even made another twitch.
There was still one man unaccounted for, and I wanted to overtake him before he could go to Brown's Hole and warn them that I was still alive and coming for my woman. Inspiration hit me when I looked back at Nason. There was no blood on him, just a badly tilted neck, so I stripped off the suit and donned it myself. It wasn't a great fit, but at least I could button the pants. If this disguise had worked so well for him, what might it do for me?
I crossed the stream and climbed up to the meadow. I remembered that I had left the extra gear behind a trio of rocks. When I saw the bareback rider, he was close to them but hadn't found the cache yet. Using boulders for cover, I got fairly close to him before he turned and said, "Is that you, George? I heard shots."
"Yeah," I answered. "It's me, Georgie. Happy to see me?"
In a flash he had whipped a bulldog 44 from his hip pocket and was shooting at me. I sidestepped, not getting hit except for a graze on the arm. Then I drew and was shooting, too fast, for he had caught me off guard with his speed. The first thing I knew I was snapping the hammer on empty cartridges, and so was my opponent. In my haste I had not reloaded after shooting the bear, so I had only three shots left when I started this match. His bulldog was a five shooter in which the firing pin actually sat on a primer if loaded all the way. Therefore it was only loaded with four rounds.
"Hold it!" I snapped. "I'm warning you, I have another gun and you'll never get another shot off. Drop the iron."
"Yeah, sure" he sneered, all the while trying to use the bulldog's awkward extractor so that he could load up again. As I watched he slipped the extractor back to its resting place and reached into his pocket for more shells.
"That's enough! I'll shoot if you load that thing."
Well, he had received fair warning. When he had stuffed his little gun and started swinging it up into line, I whipped the 38 Lightning from the small of my back with my left hand and shot him through the lung. A dazed look came over his eyes, but he was still trying, so I shot him again. Still he refused to drop! So I let drive with the last three shots, hitting him twice more in the chest and once right between the eyes. At that he slumped to the ground, finally dead.
I sat down on a rock for a much needed rest and to reload both revolvers. Before I left, I cut off the bear's scalp for John Carter. Heck, I could afford to buy my land, but I wanted him to know that his son's death had been avenged.
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